First Flush
by Adora-jia
Summary: A tale of origin, of-sorts. How things began for young Kate Beckett.
1. Homecoming

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle and am not affiliated to the persons that own the rights to Castle. All characters are fictional, and borrowed from the show.

Chapter 1

When the tears had dried up, there was anger.

There was so much anger.

It blinded her, torched the shattered debris of her soul, and propelled her.

It pushed her, prodded her, and jabbed at her, till it made her put on some warm outdoor clothes, and leave the house-home didn't sound right anymore-out into the snow-cloaked New York, after three weeks of hiding away from humanity.

She found herself walking through neighbourhood after neighbourhood, down familiar streets. There was no pattern to her wanderings; her feet took her on their own accord, her aimlessness a reflection of the chaos reigning in her mind.

When the pain had been fresh, it had seemed like the sorrow would never go. She had never been a downright optimist, but she hadn't been one for expecting worst-case scenarios either. Even the darkest, most fearsome nightmare had not been close to what had happened.

There was always light at the end of the tunnel, they said.

She couldn't bring her to believe it. Not when things had gotten worse over the past year.

If that was even possible.

A month after her mother's murder, by which time the world had pretty much forgotten about it, police had stopped frequenting the Beckett household, and the media had announced the detective's ruling it as a 'random act of violence', Kate Beckett transferred to NYU.

Stanford seemed like another world to her now. She had had very specific aspirations for her life, and her parents' work had greatly affected her, growing up. She had always been one for justice, one for setting things right. A lawyer seemed like a perfect vocation for her to channelize her energy into-saving the innocent from conviction, arguing for the sentencing of the guilty.

Her mother had been instrumental in her decisions and a steady support throughout her teenage years. Even when Kate had rebelled, during her tattooed, leather-clad, Harley-straddling wildcat phase, her mother had played good cop, while her dad had been the one resisting, guns-blazing.

It was ironic, really. To a family of its devoted disciples, Justice wasn't served to the man or men that tore them apart.

Also ironic was how Kate saw through the gaping holes in the system that she had earlier such superficial ideas about, that now denied her the right to know. To know WHY. And to know WHO.

She couldn't kid herself into studying the law any longer.

Not when her own mother's case had never reached the courts, got buried in the police archives for complete lack of evidence, suspects or motive.

But there had been other reasons for leaving Stanford and moving back.

Author's Note—Reviews will be appreciated. Thank you!


	2. Nevermore

Author's Note: My first fanfiction, and I intend it to be around 5+ chapters. Writing a fanfiction has been on the wishlist for a while now. I'm a Castillion for life, and while I love Castle, I wanted to explore Beckett's troubled past life first. I hope you give my effort a read. :)

* * *

Chapter 2

The drinking began to get out of hand.

During the haze of shock and grief that followed for weeks after her mother's death, Kate, somehow amidst all of her own pain, had sensed the change in her father's demeanour. It was natural, she thought, given the circumstances they had been tossed into. Though always an empathetic soul, Kate shared a special connection with her father-in the comfortable silences they shared, the mutual understanding of what made each other tick, and a preference of actions and gestures over spoken words.

Her father's quiet strength and air of self-assuredness was all she had known.

She now looked at him, and saw a man defeated.

There was something uneasy about the thought of leaving her remaining parent behind and heading off across the country.

She didn't need him to look after her, anymore. But that wasn't it.

For the first time, she felt she couldn't trust him to take care of himself.

* * *

She had been right, though this was not what she had suspected.

Her father had a drinking problem.

It surfaced a few months into her new life in New York. And she was ashamed to admit, it took her a little too long to notice. No, she couldn't blame herself—she had thrown herself into her coursework, pushing herself in everything she did, everywhere she went. This was how she distracted herself—plunging, all-in.

And then one night, she returned late from a study group session—those had helped, she had been a semester behind, after all—to find her father lying on the kitchen floor, three bottles of scotch scattered around his feet, completely out.

It had frozen her to the spot, to be blatantly honest. It had knocked the wind out of her, stopped her heart, and immobilized her, as the fear she had clumsily buried over the last couple of months resurfaced, and threatened to choke her.

No, it couldn't be. Not her dad, too. No.

Then her senses had decided to come back, and she took charge, rushing over and checking his vitals. No, just passed out. Thank God.

She had called 911, and an ambulance-ride later, had reached the hospital, reluctantly letting the paramedics load and wheel her dad away on a gurney, while somewhere in the background a nurse's kind words reached her ears, barely registering.

And then, all was quiet again, and it drove her insane, how calm everything was. Her she was, standing in the emergency wing of a hospital, her only remaining family, her dad, in there somewhere, possibly overdosed with alcohol and critical, her mom's death still too fresh in her memory, and everything around her was serene, as though it didn't matter to the rest of humanity, to the universe that her world, her little niche in the grand scheme of things had been tossed and left in ruins.

This was not fair.

That was the first time she had really felt the anger.

Kate had realized life would never be the same for her. But she had hoped.

That day, she knew for sure.

Nevermore.

* * *

Author's Note- Reviews are greatly appreciated! Thank you for your time.

Any suggestions and/or observations about the geography of NewYork City is welcome. I'm not a New Yorker, and hence inexperienced in that area.

Also, hope you can identify the little tribute to Edgar Allan Poe. Richard 'Edgar' Castle isn't in awe of him for nothing :)


	3. Yes, Katie

Chapter 3

Kate walked on, the cold wind battering against her slim form, the layers upon layers of clothes not able to stop the shivering.

It had been a year, and Kate didn't do well with anniversaries, she discovered. The same sounds, sights and smells of January, the post-holiday New York City, the same snow-dusted pavements, the crowds thronging to cafes for a hot cuppa, or the families out for a visit to the Rockefeller Centre for a day of skating.

She misses her mom in everything she does, really. Every book she picks up to read, every new thing she learns in class, every little scandalous tidbit she chances upon about her favourite stars, the music she listens to, each time she wonders how to style her hair next..

But she loved the holidays. Her mom made them what they were. The baking, the tree, the decorating, the shopping, reading on Christmas eve, Christmas mornings with delightful mugs of steaming hot chocolate, the gifts, and the board games. How could she watch as the entire city got decked and ready for another year's festivity when her own mother was not here to join them?

* * *

So she had hidden away in her room for most of holidays, emerging only to check on her dad and cook for them. She'd been fairly proficient in baking, and had even baked them a cake for Christmas. Her father, now sober for a few weeks, had sat down with her, and they had remembered Johanna as they quietly ate Christmas dinner, absorbing the warmth of each other's presence. It had been a long time since she had felt this peaceful. The conversation was underlined with sorrow and loss, but there was note of acceptance in it. Jim had watched her as she tidied up afterwards, then had suddenly declared that he was proud of his Katie, and disappeared into his room for the night.

She remembers wiping her tears, and carrying on with the rest of the dishes.

* * *

Three days later, she had come down from her room to warm up dinner when she had found her father passed out on the couch, a bottle by his side.

At the hospital that evening, when she was allowed to see him, she had settled quietly into the chair by his bed.

Jim was staring ahead, deep in thought, a glassy look in his eyes.

"I want you to see someone about this, Dad".

A blink, a soft rush of an exhale, sort of like an ashamed, dejected sigh, and then "Yes, Katie".

* * *

Author's Note- I would really like to hear from you. Thank you for reading!


	4. Reach Out

Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognise, and all characters (but one, you'll see) are borrowed from ABC's Castle.

Tip: You can read the chapter after listening to "Reach Out", by Westlife. Makes more sense that way :)

* * *

Previously

_Three days later, she had come down from her room to warm up dinner when she had found her father passed out on the couch, a bottle by his side._

_At the hospital that evening, when she was allowed to see him, she had settled quietly into the chair by his bed._

_Jim was staring ahead, deep in thought, a glassy look in his eyes._

_"I want you to see someone about this, Dad"._

_A blink, a soft rush of an exhale, sort of like an ashamed, dejected sigh, and then "Yes, Katie"._

* * *

Kate Beckett never shied away from a challenge. It was her natural instinct to meet a hurdle head-on. The first time her parents had taken her to the park, she remembers finding the monkey bars tough, but after around ten tries, most of which ended with her rolling in the soft ground of the playground, she had been successful in crossing over to the other end. She remembers them buying her icecream as a treat later, and vaguely something about Jim smirking to his mother about her being 'her mother's daughter'. Not that she had understood what that meant then.

There was something about it, really. Getting something that seemed impossible. Doing something that might seem difficult, dangerous, reckless even. It caught her attention and fired her imagination. It gave her a purpose. A way forward.

It gave her direction in times when she needed it.

So there she was, always looking for something else to strive for. She wasn't a mechanical brain, no. She wasn't empty inside. But that was the problem. She couldn't allow herself to think, to feel.

She was afraid to look, for she was afraid of what she might find.

* * *

Kate Beckett walked down an alleyway, deserted except for a homeless man slumped next to a dumpster. She had barely noticed where she had been walking, until now, when something familiar about the walls rising up on either side of where she was standing.

Her subconscious got there before her conscious mind it seemed, and she froze. Recognition flooding through her being, a stealthy chill travelled up her spine, and she raised her clammy hands to her mouth, parted slightly in shock.

She had walked into the alley where her mother was murdered.

Her hands trembled, her jaw slack, and her throat dry, and she seemed to have lost the ability to process anything but cold, stifling, overpowering fear. Her vision suddenly blurred, and she couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet anymore.

The next thing she knew was she was on the ground, slumped against the wall. She was shivering, which had nothing to do with the cold. She lifted her gaze. At the opposite wall the man was now stirring from his slumber.

He lifted his eyes slowly, and they fixed on hers. For a moment their gazes locked, cool green with her hazel. And then suddenly she was looking into soft brown eyes, ones she had seen a million times, ones she had loved, ones she hadn't looked into for almost a year…

And she was up, and back on her feet, she ran up the alley, never looking back, not stopping till she had put ten blocks between the place and herself.

What had just happened?

* * *

_When life holds you down_

_Like you're drowning at sea _

_I'm the hand that you need _

_'Til you land at your own destiny._

_Reach out for me._

-Westlife.

* * *

"What you just described to me is a panic attack, Kate".

Kate looks up from the cup of coffee she held with both her hands, the warmth of the steaming concoction seeping through her gloved palms and soothing her jumpy nerves, in a way.

"Wow. Wow, Jason, I'd no idea", she says, looking at her friend, feeling a little ashamed.

Jason was six-foot tall, bespectacled and had an air of calm about him that was more a characteristic of a man on the wrong side of sixty, not a twenty-one-year-old sophomore. He was the 'wise guy', and the closest thing to a friend Kate had in college.

"You know it's okay to talk about this? After all you have been through, you of all people have the constitutional right to lose it a little", he says, grinning mischievously, but the twinkle in his eyes betraying his kindness. He then fixes Kate with a look of concern, waiting it out for her to respond. They were a sitting inside this tiny but cosy cafe they often came to after classes, or during free periods. The coffee, if nothing else, was excellent.

After a long pause, Kate speaks. "You know how things are. I know you notice things without me saying anything, Mr. Know-it-all", grinning a little when Jason huffs at her counter-attack. "Yes, it's been tough. And it's January again. That makes it worse".

"You are the strongest person I've had the honour to meet, Kate. You'll figure it out", Jason says, with a sincere nod in her direction. "And", he continues in a droll voice, "you can count on my expert wit and counsel when you, err, hit a brick wall. Oops, that was a bad pun, seeing that's what happened today".

Fast as lighning, Kate grabs his nose across the table and tweaks it, hard.

"Ow, you merciless woman! How do you do that, what are you, like, a ninja"? he says, rubbing his nose, his eyes watering as he recovers from her attack. Kate continues to glare at him.

"Well, you see what I mean"? Jason resumes. "You'll be fine. Anyone dumb enough to cross you will get mauled to death anyway. If they survive your drop-dead gorgeous good looks, that is".

This has Kate cracking up. They both laugh for a bit. This is what Jason's good at. Making her smile. And its not that easy these days, so he's got a talent for it, she'll give that to him.

"Hey, Jay"?

"Yes, m'dear?" he says, mock-seriously, a bemused twinkle in his eyes giving him away.

"Thanks for being there".

"Anytime, Kate. Anytime," he smiles, his light grey eyes shining.

Kate likes how she can tell him everything without feeling ashamed or getting pitied. She loves how he was there in minutes when she told him she needed some company.

And Kate wonders that she could really love this guy.

Then she remembers what happens to all the people she loves, and forces the feelings back into their resting place, behind the walls of the fortress she's been building around her heart.

She doesn't think she'll survive losing again.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for such lovely reviews, and the follows and favourites. Also to all who spent time reading this fic. Thank you all.

I'm sorry for the delay in uploading. Hope this chapter makes up for it. Another will be up soon :)

If anyone is confused as to the format of the story, till now it's primarily the thoughts, reflections and experiences of Kate while she is out on a walk.

We shall proceed to a different time, some weeks after this episode, in the next instalment.

And please do leave your thoughts on what you feel about Jason. He's no Castle, and "anytime" may be his version of "always", but Kate finds herself wondering more and more about him in the next few chapters. We will see where that goes.

Reviews are very, very, very special treats.

Love, Adora.


	5. Revelation

Author's Note: Thank you for reading this story, folks, and sticking by me! We now move on a wee bit in time, a few weeks after where we left off. Hope you like the elements I have introduced here. You will know as you finish reading.

* * *

Disclaimer: All rights belong to ABC, including Castle characters and the books written by Richard Castle. I lay no claim on either.

* * *

"Hey, look who's here".

"If it isn't our leggy Siren".

"Aww, man, what I wouldn't do to do her", followed by guffaws and wolf-whistles, and less than sophisticated declarations of lust.

Kate 'The Siren' Beckett walks down the hall heading to her next class. Psychology is her favourite subject, its mysteries fascinate her and draw her in, and she doesn't want to be late. She's used to gawkers, having spent most of high school being stared at for her gorgeous good-looks.

And _yes_, she is beautiful. With eyes of green speckled with molten golden brown, chocolate brown curls loosely framing her delicate features and legs that stretched on for eternity, Kate Beckett is a vision.

And so she ignores the catcalls with studied indifference and sails calmly towards her nearing destination.

"What, we aren't hot enough for you, you snob"?

And then sometimes, people go too far.

Kate stops in her tracks, six-inch heels screeching to a halt, and slowly, very slowly, turns around.

She looks at the guy who had spoken. A jock, probably, who seemed like the leader of the group. Seeing her stop he gives her a wink, and grins at his partners-in-crime. Oh look, Kate smirks in her head, he's rejoicing.

Triumphant at having Kate apparently riled up, he inches closer, till his face is a foot away from hers, and gives her a once-over, his gaze stopping longer than necessary at the place where the neck of her shirt gave way to bare skin. "So", he slurs unattractively. "What does it take to land a slut like you, these days"?

A crowd is now gathering, with people stopping by to watch the little drama unfold. Kate catches Jason's eye, and he seems to be giving her the don't-do-anything-unusually-stupid look. She turns back to the matter at hand.

"Why", Kate uses her best come-hither voice, "what are you offering"? Batting her eyelashes a little for effect, she inches even closer to the guy, who was now a little slack-jawed. Kate Beckett up close could do that to you. "Because I sure as hell don't wanna do _you_".

"Why you little whore", the guy bellows, grabbing at throat, but Kate is too fast. The predatory glint in her eye the only warning, she kicks him in his midsection, hard, and as he keels over with an "Oof", she catches hold of his arm, bends it backwards till he is groaning with pain.

"Get off me, bitch, you're killing me".

Kate smirks. "Well, next time don't go asking for it", she hisses at him, and lets him go.

With the jerk now slumped on the floor, Kate straightens up, and grabs her bag that had slipped off her shoulders during the struggle.

Maybe he would report her. Maybe things would be a mess. In her own defense, he had tried to grab her neck. But she wouldn't think about that now. Now, she would rejoice. And then there was psychology.

Smiling to herself she continues her walk to class from where she had left off, as though nothing had happened.

"Who is that girl?" someone wonders aloud.

"That", murmurs Jason Sanders, making his way through the crowd, "is Kate Beckett".

He runs to catch up with her, and they go to class.

* * *

"So, Hans is backing off, indefinitely".

"What, no lawsuit?" Kate laughs, looking up at Jason, who hands her a few books, and settles opposite her at the table. They are in the library, and its free period. The entire college seems to now know about her little Bruce Lee act. She just hopes no one got a video of it; those things ended up on the internet nowadays, and the last thing she wanted to be was the newest sensation on the World Wide Web.

"Everyone saw how he baited you, and then attacked you. Hans has no case, without implicating himself as a first-rate creep" Jason says, and Kate gives him a triumphant grin. "You know, I know better. I'd say you were baiting _him_. You led him on, and here he is, in a soup, knowing better than to repeat history", he says, giving his friend a sly look.

"I'd be great at getting people to implicate themselves. Maybe I'll join the FBI", says Kate laughs.

"Oh, not just making them confess, but beating them up! The way you tackled him, you really have my admiration. What was that, karate?" Jason chuckles. "On a more serious note, don't do that again. He tried to strangle you, Kate. That guy has serious issues". Jason looked more serious than she had ever seen him. Kate gave him a tender look.

"Well, you'll be there to bail me out, won't you"?

* * *

Kate walks by her mother's study on her way to hers, and something catches her eye.

Curiosity gets the better of her, and she goes in through the door, leaving it half-open.

She hasn't been in here since after her mother's death last year, when her father and she had shown the police into the room, when they had come to go over her things as part of the investigation.

She had never felt going into her mother's room would help her understand her death. The whole thing didn't make any sense. And really, there was no way she would come back to them. Going into her room would not give her any closure. In fact, she was afraid she might upset the delicate balance she had struck between the raging grief and quiet acceptance by looking through her mother's belongings.

But today, she is here, looking at what grabbed her attention as she passed by. There, on the large shelf of books, filled with books on law, French and Russian literature, and crime novels, was a series of paperbacks, with bright covers, and they looked very familiar.

Reaching up for one, Kate brings one down and studies the cover. It's "Flowers For Your Grave", by Richard Castle.

No wonder they had looked familiar, she thinks. On her way back on the subway, her eyes had caught onto a young woman reading a book by Castle. And then, when she had passed a bookstore the other day, she had seen a large poster hanging by the shop window, with a pile of his books on show. Then, the other day, she caught him on T.V, on the late night news, being interviewed about his books, though the reporter lady clearly showed more interest in his love life. His newest offering—"Storm Rising", was now available, and goodness, this man was everywhere, and so were his fans.

But she had not the slightest idea till now that her mother had, too, been one of them.

Stunned, she opens the book to the first page, where, beneath the dedication, there was a loopy autograph and a message. Her mother had gotten her copy signed. She must have been quite the devotee.

Her eyes fall on the message, which reads,

_To Jo, whose greatest weapon is truth. _

_I wish you were younger. Then I'd have half a chance. _

_Tell Kate she will be drawn into my books one day. Everyone is. _

_Rick Castle._

X

* * *

Author's Note: So now our Star-crossed Lovers are officially star-crossed. You can sense that Kate's discovery is a revelation, which will change her life forever.

Let me know how you feel about this.

As for Kate's bad-assery, I felt there would always have been some part of her that had a talent for manipulating other's and giving them a taste of their own medicine!So there. :)

Reviews are great. :)


	6. Castle

**_Previously_**:

Reaching up for one, Kate brings one down and studies the cover. It's "Flowers For Your Grave", by Richard Castle.

Stunned, she opened the book to the first page, where, beneath the dedication, there was a loopy autograph and a message. Her mother had gotten her copy signed. She must have been quite the devotee.

Her eyes fell on the message, which read,

_To Jo, whose greatest weapon is the truth. _

_I wish you were younger. Then I'd have half a chance. _

_Tell Kate she will be drawn into my books one day. Everyone is. _

_Rick Castle._

X

* * *

_Fine waited in front of a thrift store, on the sidewalk, just as he had been told. But he had a feeling she wouldn't show._

_A woman in a red dress, the voice on the other end had said. "Take her packet, and deliver it back to me, and I'll give you what you're looking for. Get caught, and I'll destroy both you and your precious little evidence, not to mention your wife. That clear?"_

_Leroy knew he didn't have a choice. He had shown up, and till now, there was not a sign of his contact keeping his promise. He decided to wait another five minutes and leave._

_That's when he spots her._

_A woman seated at a table outside the café across the street, with her back to him. Just as he is about to cross, the woman stands up, and turns around._

_Fine stifles a gasp._

_"You!"_

"So, you decided to come in here, after all".

Kate jumps, startled, and looks behind her at the door to find her father leaning against the doorframe, smiling.

It was past seven, and her dad is usually home from work by then, but she hadn't heard him come in. She had been too engrossed in Castle's powerful story-telling. The man was…good with words.

"Well, I.."

"Oh, I knew you would sooner or later", Jim Beckett says before she can come up with a flimsy excuse, and gives her a knowing look. "Curiosity is never a sin".

Her father walks up to where she is still standing, and glances around the room, a fond melancholy in his eyes, and lets out a sigh. He looks down at the book in her hand. A mischievous glint in his eyes, he looks at his daughter, and finds her blushing.

"Well, of all the things you could pick up, you had to choose a Castle novel. You really are your mother's daughter", he mock-complains. Then laughs.

"I don't know what you...Dad, what does that even mean"? Kate asks, indignant and sensing her father was pulling her leg.

Jim seems to be enjoying seeing her squirm, but in the end gives in, and walks her over to a couch at the far end of the room, next to the window overlooking Central Park. Her mother had loved this couch, and the view it offered out the window. The many visitors to the park-lovers in spring, children with their families in summer, birders and nature-lovers, the young looking for some fun or the aged, reading a book or newspaper on a bench under the trees—fascinated her. She often said she had seen enough scenes sitting here on her favourite couch to write a book, if only her work ever let her have the luxury.

Kate had loved the couch, as a child. She remembers the many nights when she would troop into her mother's study, unable to sleep, finding her still at work on some case or the other. Johanna would take little Katie in her arms, and they would cuddle on the couch, wrapped in each other's comforting presence, often with her mother singing her a lullaby or two, in her clear, resonant voice. Johanna's family was from Croatia, and the ditties were what _she_ had grown up listening to. The haunting tunes and unfamiliar words took her off to faraway lands, with their dashing young princes and lost princesses, evil magicians and cruel conniving stepmothers, or fairy godmothers and little bearded men.

The song would swell to the climax, ripple melodiously when lovers reunited and then gently ebb away, when all conflict was resolved, and as the last of the notes left Johanna's lips, Sleep would come and carry Katie off to her own little world of dreams, and her mother would carry her back to her room, and tuck the soundly sleeping girl into bed. A couple of times, Jim, an early riser, would at daybreak find the two still on the couch, mother and daughter, both fast under the spell of slumber cast over them, lost in the comfort of each other's presence.

It seems like Jim is recalling those very memories as he sits his daughter beside him on the couch. Then snapping out of his reverie, he turns to his daughter, the artful look back in his eyes.

"So, did you read what he wrote for her"?

Oh, so he knew she had seen that. "Yes. Dad? What does he mean by 'Kate will be drawn to my books'? What kind of a self-centred jacka—"

"Now, now, Katie, watch your mouth. Well, he is Rick Castle, playboy extraordinaire, and so if I can _handle_", her dad punctuates that with a shrug, "the obvious flirty line he left my _wife_, you can get over the bit about you too".

"I don't remember mom ever talking about him, though", Kate wonders aloud.

"Well, in that case, Katie, you weren't paying attention", Jim laughs. "I for one remember the many times she badgered me to read his books. It's not that I didn't want to. But I never seemed to get the urge, you know. You, on the other hand, scoffed at the entire genre, saying 'racy mystery novels' were of no literary worth or any useful social consequence and what-not. You made it very hard for her to convince you otherwise", Jim chuckles in remembrance.

"Now that you mention it, I do remember her talking about Castle's books. That was years ago, and I was still in high school, and had just discovered my penchant for Tolstoy and Chekov their long gargantuan words. So you can't blame me for calling this," she says, rolling her eyes, and holding up 'Flowers For Your Grave', "racy".

"Oh, no. But it distressed your mother, a great deal at that. You know how she hates losing an argument, and a good one too, like you made. So yes, she came back from the signing that day, and went on and on about how nice he had been, and how he had convinced her to give the matter a rest, saying not everyone read the same kind of books", he says, his turn to roll his eyes.

Kate only half listens to her father's words, now. Her mind is wandering back to the story where she had left off, before her father had come in. To Leroy Fine and his rocky marriage, even rockier bank balance and how he stumbles upon evidence that could turn his life around. She finds herself in her characters shoes, amazed at how quickly Castle had roped her into his tale.

"Ah, am I boring you? Here I am, rambling on, when you seem to be falling for Castle's charms, too", Jim winks, and Kate startles, and looks at her dad apologetically.

Jim smiles at his daughter. "Well, there's nothing to be ashamed of, Katie. Your mother liked his books. And your mother was no easy woman to please. The man must have some talent. That he's easy on the eyes does help".

"Dad", Kate retorts, "I don't read books because I like how the writer looks! Then I'd hardly get _any_ reading done".

Jim chuckles. "Touché. So, I'll leave you to your reading, then. Somewhere, Jo's laughing and telling me—"

"I told you so", Kate finishes, shaking her head and laughing.

* * *

Jim gets up to leave, and at the door turns around for one last look at his daughter.

Kate is already reclined on Johanna's couch, the book propped up on her stomach, her brow furrowed in concentration, the story swallowing her attention up completely.

He looks up, and mutters, "You told me so", and shuts the door behind him.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, I finally explored a bit of their father-daughter relationship. Castle is a show that really champions the goodness that is brought out by one's family, and how it stands tall with you in rough times. Jim may have not been the most stable dad for Kate, but he was there when she needed him the most. They leaned on each other, holding the other up when they were falling, taking turns. But they still are itrinsically a protective father and a college-going daughter, and its imaginable that they had their 'moments'. Hope you like this one.

I haven't read Flowers For Your Grave. I don't know how to- is it available? In any case, you can assume the excerpt at the top that Kate is reading from is from said book. I sincerely apologize if writing an imaginary paragraph from the book happens to be an infringement of copyright in any way.

I eagerly await your thoughts and reviews!

Love, Adora. x


	7. Freefall

**Author's Note****:** Lyrics from the very lovely song "Falling", by Florence and The Machine. Have a listen. :)

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters aired on the show Castle on ABC. I only lay claim on the characters Jason, Quinn and Nancy. I don't even the lovely lyrics, which I have borrowed from Florence and The Machine. **

* * *

I'll dance myself up  
Drunk myself down  
Find people to love  
Love people too drunk  
I'm not scared to jump  
I'm not scared to fall  
If there was nowhere to land  
I wouldn't be scared  
At all

* * *

_Kate Beckett runs. _

_Behind her she can hear footsteps, growing louder and louder, coming closer. She ducks into a narrow alleyway, and makes her way into a dingy by lane. She looks behind her, and thinks she sees a shadow shift. She gasps, and runs again, faster this time, and after what seems like hours, notices a small doorway, with the door ajar. She slips inside, and bolts the door, and sinks down to the floor._

_The footsteps come closer, and stop right outside the door. _

_There are two men outside, separated from her by a feeble plank of wood._

_Kate can't breathe._

_And then, as in her worst imaginings, they bang loudly at the door._

_"Come on out, you sneaky little thief! Come out, or I'll kill you, just like I killed your nosey mother", one of them say._

_Kate swallows a whimper. She had been right. Her mother's murder was pre-meditated, not just a wayward act of crime. _

_Then, like a sound arising from the deepest recesses of Hell itself, the Voice curls its phantom hands around her now staccato-tapping heart, and squeezes. _

_"Why, she thinks she can hide from me forever"._

_Her whole body is now shivering, from cold. She's drenched in sweat from running, and she knows this is it. She is cornered. She lost. They found her._

_"You won't get anything from killing me", she rasps out. "You won't get away with it this time"._

_The Voice laughs, the laughter mirthless and cold. Kate feels it ripple along her skin, hair-raising and chilling in its wake. _

_"We'll see about that. But know, Kate Beckett, you won't win. If you go down this path, I _will_ kill you, one day. It's only a matter of time". _

_"What if I don't care?" _

_"Well, too bad. I'd have thought you cared about your father. The poor man clings on to you like a lifebuoy. You really want to let him drown in booze again"? _

_"Don't you dare talk about my father, you heartless bastard. You. Killed. My. Mom", Kate grits out, her eyes blazing with the rage she kept carefully closeted all the time. "You will pay. I will make you"._

_Barely containing her rage, Kate gets up, and nears the door. _

_She can't see the men's feet anymore._

_They've gone._

_Behind her, she hears a soft step. She turns around._

_Before she can react, she is blinded by a light, and a hooded, faceless figure jumps at her from the shadows, and a knife descends on her, shining menacingly. _

_She hears a man's voice, one that sounds oddly familiar to her ears, pleading to her "Beckett, stay with me"!_

_And Kate falls, falls into the endless dark abyss, while a woman's petrified scream pierces the air._

_"Beckett, hang on"!_

* * *

Sometimes I wish for falling  
Wish for the release  
Wish for falling through the air  
To give me some relief  
Because falling's not the problem  
When I'm falling I'm in peace  
It's only when I hit the ground  
It causes all the grief

* * *

"Kate, wake up"!

"Beckett, come on, wake up".

Someone is shaking her by her shoulders, and splashing water on her face.

Slowly opening her eyes, she blinks and lets her eyes adjust to the light.

Three worried faces are hovering over her. Jason looks calm, though a little shaken, while Nancy looks close to tears. Quinn is holding a water bottle, practically empty by now, explaining why she is drenched with water. "So you decided to drown me today, eh Q"? Kate croaks out. Quinn gives her a smug grin, looking all too pleased with herself.

"You cut your thumb on a nail, Kate", Jason is the first to speak. And you asked me for a band-aid. The next thing I know, you've taken a tumble".

"It's a vasovagal response", Nancy says, looking relieved, but still shaken up.

"A _what_, now?" Quinn asks.

"It's mediated by the vagus nerve. It's the most common type of fainting. May be caused by trauma, hunger, thrist…The individual experiences signs such as lightheadedness, nausea, ringing in the ears, confusion, visual disturbances, tunnel vision…"

"I'm sure I'm very interesting to you when I faint, Nan, but if you could just let me up—", Kate mutters, and Nancy stalls her recital, and the three of them heave Kate up onto her feet. When she feels steady, she shakes their hands off, inspecting her still bleeding thumb. Sucking on it gently, she reaches for the band-aid Jason hands her, and sticks it on.

She looks at her friends, and smiles. "Hey you guys, I'm sorry for that. But I'm fine now, so quit looking so scared", this she directs specially at Nancy, who smiles impishly. "Even you, Q, you probably gave me bad cold, for free".

"Anything for you, Beckett".

"Hey, you guys go ahead, you'll be late. I'll handle with floppy Beckett here", Jason says.

"You sure"? Nancy asks. "Yeah, I'm sure, go ahead", Jason replies, ignoring the murderous look Kate is giving him.

"'Kay. Take care, Beckett". The girls leave, with one last smile at Kate.

Kate turns to Jason. "_Floppy Beckett_? This your idea of a joke, 'cause I will bodily hurt—"

"Whoa, hold on! Why are you so testy"?

Kate sighs. She had been hallucinating, but it had seemed so real. Her mother's murder, running from her killers, the Voice, and then the free-fall into nothingness—she could still see it if she closed her eyes. She wonders if she should tell Jason, but decides against it. He looks worried as it is, though he's trying to hide that underneath his humour.

"Nothing", she says, "I'm just not used to this".

"Used to fainting? I should think not", Jason grins. "It's you we're talking about. Now if you're up for it, should we go for class"?

"Um, no. You go ahead. I'll take the rest of today off. You think that's okay?"

Jason looks a little stunned. "Wow, Kate Beckett. I never thought backing down was your style. I would strongly advise what you just proposed yourself, but was afraid to mention it, because I was sure you'd decide to plow on", he admits.

"And I would. But I just…feel a little surreal today. My mind's just not in the right place. But you're right, maybe I should stay—"

"Oh, no, you go home, Kate. Spend some time with your Dad. These things usually come from lack of sleep and skipping meals. We both know you have had your fare share of those. I'm gonna drag you home if necessary", Jason says, and almost frog-marches Kate towards the exit. He's met with a traditional Beckett eye-roll. Kate's expression softens, and she once again thinks of how sweet this guy is to her in spite of how she must drive him crazy.

"Alright Jay, I'm going! See? I'll call you later".

"Hey, anytime. And you're still on for my sister's going-away party on Sunday, don't forget!" he calls after her, and really, she has so much going on in her head right now, that she replies "Sure, see you there!" without really thinking it over.

Today, right now, she needs her Dad.

* * *

Because falling's not the problem  
When I'm falling I'm in peace  
It's only when I hit the ground  
It causes all the grief

* * *

**Author's Note****:** Here's another one. I may be unable to update a while after this. Hope you like where this is going. Any suggestions and constructive criticism is welcome!

I would like to add that the portion in the beginning of this chapter is going on inside Kate's head. A vasovagal response is commonly experienced after sudden fall in blood pressure, without any predisposition to it sometimes, the causes of which Nancy quite accurately states. It may cause brief or long periods of unconsciousness and/or hallucinations. I have experienced it once myself, and the images I remember hallucinating were rather vivid. Needless to say, not a very pleasant experience! But I imagined Kate having a similar episode, and given her traumatic past, it may be assumed she saw the images of the faceless men who killed her mother.

If you read the dream sequence with care, you will have spotted two dialogues that Richard Castle says later, in canon. And no, Kate is probably not looking into her future, and this is definitely not a supernatural genre fic I'm writing. But, it WAS fun to use. Haha.

Reviews are my life right now! Be as generous as you can. :)

Adora.


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